


with knives

by swiiftly



Category: EverymanHYBRID, Slender Man Mythos
Genre: F/M, Knifeplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2013-05-20
Packaged: 2017-12-12 09:20:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/809943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swiiftly/pseuds/swiiftly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How to make Evan Jennings feel safe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	with knives

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mondegreen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mondegreen/gifts).



> A companion piece to [you shall drip rubies](http://eroticabot.tumblr.com/post/46309069101) because Reili is better than you.

"Evan. Evan. Hey Evan, Evan look at me, don't you make me stab you with this to get your attention."

Evan drops the controller. Steph is standing beside him - when did she even get off the couch - but no, that's not the point, the point is that she's running her finger along the edge of the little switchblade, the one she'd claimed as her own once Evan realized if he was going to let anyone share his knives, it was always going to be Steph. 

She shoots him an unimpressed look and points the knife at him, and his eyes follow the movement, Steph's fingers cradling it carefully, the glow of the TV reflected faintly in the blade. He raises his eyebrows and carefully ignores his heart rate picking up in response to the look of intent in her eyes.

"I was just thinking…" She sits down again and rests her head on his shoulder, legs curling up underneath her. (She still tries to take up as little space as possible, which only makes Evan want to lay her out and trace every inch of her body with his fingers, with his teeth, with a blade, because she's _here_  and safe and he's not letting her go. It's maybe a little weird that he can make _blade_  mean _safe_.)

Steph presses the flat side of the blade to his arm, and it's--not the cold hard metal he was expecting. It's warm; he wonders how long Steph's been holding onto it before bringing it to him, warming it in her hands, hot flesh to cold blade, making it hers. "Would it be cool if I tried it on you?" She's going for matter of fact, but he knows the way the words are tumbling out of her mouth, fast enough so that she can't take them back. She's smiling.

"Fuck--fucking _yes_  you can." He presses his face into her neck, listens to her pulse, and grins.

-

"Don't look at me like that, you jerk." Steph's sitting cross legged on the bed with one of Vinny's plaid shirts unbuttoned and practically swallowing her whole - he briefly wondered where the fuck she got one of Vinny's shirts, but he's got his own stash of worn-in shirts stolen from him so who is he to judge - and not much else. He waggles his eyebrows (always guaranteed to make Steph dissolve into giggles) and reaches out to poke at the skull charm on the center of her bra. 

"You're just so fucking _cute_ ," he sighs dreamily, fluttering his hands for effect, but it's not really much of an exaggeration. He loves this girl and he is not even a little bit fucking ashamed. "Especially when you're playing with a deadly weapon in your underwear. Girl after my own fuckin' heart."

"You watch out or I'll carve it out of your chest when you're not paying attention." She punctuates her threat with a jab of the knife, stopping it an inch or so away from actually hitting his chest. It's a charged moment, eyes locked, Steph's hand wavering just a little. Her face is determined, though, and she says, voice not wavering at all, "But you're paying attention now, huh."

"Do it." Evan's voice drops, into that register that never feels totally in his control, dark and gravelly but really fucking wanting, right now.

Steph exhales, breaks into a giddy grin, and drags the blade down his chest.

It's not even actual skin, just scraping at him through the thin fabric of his shirt, but it draws a full body shiver out of him in anticipation, and there's something both familiar and totally fucking foreign clawing at his insides. 

"Yeah?" she breathes, knife balanced on two fingers, her head ducked and her face obscured by her hair, but he can still see her eyes watching him, her lips quirked up in a smile.

Evan nods once, and she pounces.

Knife still in hand, she straddles him and pins him down by the wrists, her grip tighter than usual. He's thankful for it - he can forget what creeps into his brain sometimes (where he's the one holding the knife and she's beneath him, red fingerprints on skin) as long as she's there to overwhelm him with what's happening _righthererightnow_. She's biting her lip and he lifts his head to bite at her, too, he can't really help himself, but she immediately presses down harder with her knife hand and hisses out, " _Stay_. Don't move."

Evan makes a small noise when she lets go and sits back, setting down the knife and letting her shirt fall off her shoulders. His body is nearly screaming at him to move, to touch his wrists where she'd been holding on, to press her back into the bed instead - Evan has never been very good at sitting still and waiting. But Steph's knees are tight around his hips, her eyes locked on his, daring him to see what happens if he doesn't listen. He swallows hard, narrows his eyes, and sticks his tongue out at her, because what the hell else is he going to do.

And that's it, she falls forward over him and laughs helplessly into his neck, and hey, he still doesn't move. 

"Fuck you, Evan Jennings," she says and bites down once, hard, on his collarbone. "You ruined it. I was trying to be all…" she trails off, glaring at him. "You know."

"What did I do? You told me not to move, I didn't move!" He's laughing, and so is she, but his wrists are laying still right where she put them, the knife untouched a few inches away.

"Fucking right you didn't," she mutters as she sits back up, smacking him in the stomach on the way up. She pauses her hand there, slips it under his shirt to touch skin, and he huffs out another laugh, more anticipation than reaction, this time. 

"I'm taking off your shirt, unfortunately you're gonna have to move for this part."

"Guess you shoulda thought this through, huh?"

"Fuck you, I have a _plan_." She pulls the shirt up and over his head, and now they're a little more evenly matched, skin to skin. Steph reaches one hand back to unclasp her bra, smiling a little dangerously at Evan, and _god_  he never gets tired of this, and they're not even doing anything yet.

She leans forward again and presses down against his wrists, digging her thumbnails into the tight flesh between the bones. He closes his eyes and imagines the bones cracking and Steph piecing them back together, sewing his skin back up with her fingertips. 

"I'm gonna start now. No sudden movements, okay?" She draws back her hands, relieving the bruising pressure as she trails her fingers down his arms. One hand breaks contact, but the other continues drawing small circles on his skin. He still doesn't open his eyes. Maybe that's a bad idea, but - he trusts her. He wants to feel _everything_.

Obviously the sensation of knife on skin won't be new to him - he's been tracing invisible patterns on his body basically as long as he can remember, but this, this is different. This is someone else, someone he trusts, someone he loves, _Steph_ , taking over and taking that control away from him. Not taking, though - he's giving it to her, that's the fucking difference, he wants to be hers, for her to sink below his skin and breathe herself into his bloodstream and the marrow in his bones. Sometimes Evan is a huge fucking sap.

A laugh echoes in the back of his mind, and--" _please_ , Steph."

She presses a kiss to his forehead, whispers "I'm going to count your ribs with my knife," and then there's metal on skin, fucking _finally_.

" _Fuck_ ," he breathes and arches up into her, but she pulls the knife away immediately, replacing it with her hand and pushing him down.

"You have to listen to me. Don't _move_ , Evan."

He stills. She's holding the tip of the knife - is the blade side down? there's no way to know, even as his chest rises and falls and rises again - at his sternum, just that paper-thin layer of skin between metal and bone. With each breath he imagines it piercing through, but then she's moving it down, feather light, and all he can do is shiver. She told him not to move.

The blade slides along a rib, light at first, too fucking light, but then she's dragging it back the other way in one fast, hard movement, and fuck, it's like she could slice right into the space between the bones, dip the blade into the blood beneath the skin and trail it back along his chest. She doesn't stop - slides it back and forth up and down his ribcage, a steady rhythm to match his breath to, her other hand holding him down, a reminder not to move. She's got him, all he needs to do is let her carve herself into his skin.

He has no idea how long it lasts - Steph never breaks contact, even though sometimes it feels like just the tiniest thread between them, like she's drawing out a nerve with the edge of the blade. But then when she presses in hard, when he feels the shift of her muscles around him as she leans forward and nearly digs in to flesh, it's like he's swimming in his body, filling up every bit of blood and guts and nerves and bone, meeting Steph there and letting her consume him. She's opening him up from the inside out.

But then--

\--she pulls back suddenly, his skin still singing with the phantom scraping of the knife. He holds his breath, waiting for more, but then she presses her whole hand against his hot, sharpened skin and he exhales in a rush, opening his eyes to meet hers. 

"Hi," she whispers, her fingers beginning to trail up and down, drawing smooth circles on his reddened flesh. She's smiling so fucking bright and he smiles back, of course he smiles back. "You can move now."

"Hey," he breathes, reaches for her, pulls her down on top of him. She's warm and he's burning and he wants to wrap his entire self around her. "You. Fuck, I…" but words really fucking aren't working, and she laughs into his collarbone.

"Shhhh. I know," Steph says, running her fingers up and down the edge of his ribs. "I know."


End file.
